


Waterlogged

by cottonwoolsocks



Series: Whumptober 2019 [3]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders is a Good Friend, Background Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Background Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Background Deceit Sanders, Background Morality | Patton Sanders, Background Thomas Sanders, Breathless, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flooding, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, Logic | Logan Sanders Needs a Hug, Logic | Logan Sanders is Bad at Feelings, Logic | Logan Sanders-centric, Nightmare, Nightmares, Ocean, Tear Stained, Virgil is Bestest Anxiety, What Exactly Is At The Bottom of the Ocean, Whumptober 2019, everything is not as it seems, hallucination, wake up, waterlogged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 22:15:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21204941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cottonwoolsocks/pseuds/cottonwoolsocks
Summary: Logan's fear of the ocean manifests itself in a nightmare.Virgil is there to help.





	Waterlogged

The water seemed to be rising from the very floor itself, soaking through the carpet and pooling around Logan’s feet. He cast around, expecting to see Remus grinning maniacally at him as he turned the taps on full, but not one of the others were in sight. He frowned.

And why was the water rising  _ up  _ the way…?

He moved towards the stairs, intent on heading up to locate one of the others and make sure nobody was accidentally sleeping in the bathtub again, but as his foot touched the bottom step a torrent of water practically knocked him off his feet, failing only as a result of Logan’s instinct to grab the handrail. His eyes flickered to the stairs and then back to the carpeted floor which was now all but obscured, analysing, hypothesising, gathering data. But none of it made sense.

There was no feasible way for the water to be rushing down in such a huge volume, much less rising from the floor. The only ones with the power to construct something as… improbable… as this, would be the twins.

And Roman would never, not when he knew Logan was down here, and especially not when a number of his sketchpads still lay sprawled around the living room, now gathering water.

But Remus? ...Remus would.

Logan sighed.

“Remus! It is in both your and my own best interests that you  _ stop  _ the flow of water.”

He would have said there was silence, but the roar of water now up to his ankles made it hard to even remember what silence sounded like—or didn't, he supposed, as silence was defined as the  _ absence _ of sound. Momentarily closing his eyes in annoyance, he instead sank out, hoping to gain a little clarity in a more familiar—and quieter—environment.

And all of a sudden he couldn't breathe, water inside his mouth and his ears and his nose and splintering his vision.

He was back in the main room barely a second later, now completely soaked, and beginning to feel concerned. Had something gone wrong?

He took off his glasses and dried them off quickly, before trying to duck into Roman’s room to see if he could reverse this—but Roman’s door must have been locked, for he couldn't get in.

Remus’s was empty of Remus, but was full of water much like Logan’s own before, and Logan couldn't help the jolt of…something that went through his chest as he began to  <strike> fear </strike> predict the worst. But he wasn't afraid. He couldn't feel fear. Fear was an emotion. He had not emotions. Of course.

Deceit’s was locked too, which didn't exactly surprise him, although it did perturbe him slightly. He was running out of people who'd be able to fix this.

Even Patton’s was locked, which was surprising, as Patton was always very clear that he would leave his room open as often as he was able in case anyone ever wanted to talk.

Virgil's room was the last he tried, already expecting it to be locked as it practically always was, so you can imagine his surprise when he found himself in the centre of the dimly-lit room. His confusion only heightened when he did not find himself completely submerged in water, nor even up to his knees, and when he squinted down to examine the floor and found dry carpet he was even a little suspicious.

No matter. He was here to check on Virgil, not analyse everything he saw when it didn't react as he expected it to.

“Virgil?” he called softly, treading gently towards the bed squashed into the corner and trying not to let his dripping clothes form too large of a puddle, eyeing the mound of blankets that may or may not be a figure.

The blankets suddenly sat bolt upright and Logan stopped in his tracks, frowning and wondering if he'd spooked the anxious side. “...Virgil?”

Two pinpricks of light appeared where eyes should be, and before Logan could react Virgil’s voice filled the room, loud and all-encompassing as it always was when he became anxious, except shriller, piercing, and unlike anything Logan had ever heard before.

“Wake up!” yelled the voice. “Logan! It's the bottom of the ocean!” it shrieked, growing more shrill and inhuman with every letter and Logan winced, pressing his palms into his ears in an attempt to block out the noise.

It only seemed to magnify it, sharp and penetrating as it continued to shriek, cries echoing around the room and seeming to bounce around Logan's very skull. “Wake up! Wake up!” 

“Logan!” it cried, before the blankets began to sink, the sound of the voice reverberating around the room as echoes bounced off the walls, and it took Logan a moment to notice the sound of running water.

The blankets fell away entirely, now just a heap on the bed and Logan stepped forward, arm outstretched towards where Virgil had only just been, ears still ringing and the banshee cries playing over in his mind.

He realised with a start that the water was pooling from the blankets where Virgil had been situated, a gushing torrent that was slowly filling the room. Logan panicked, already knowing where this was headed and trying to sink out.

But he couldn't.

The water was up to his hips already, spilling over the top of the bedframe and soaking everything on it. He span towards the door, trying his best to wade through the water, but his steps were slow and the water was rising, only a matter of time before it overcame him.

The door didn't budge, and all Logan’s knowledge of physics was telling him  _ of course it doesn't move, the pressure against the door is greater than that outside; you have to wait for the pressure to equalise before it can be opened _ . But the pressure wouldn't equalise, because the fact he couldn't open the door meant there was less water beyond the door, which meant there was no way the pressure would ever equalise because all the water was in here.

Abandoning the door handle, Logan instead began to beat against the door, hoping to create a hole to drain the water from.

But of course, Virgil’s door was made of iron, because of  _ aesthetic  _ of whatever it was Virgil claimed, and there was no way he was going to even make a dent in it, let alone a hole.

Logan's was somewhat aware that his breathing was worryingly high, but he didn't have time to think about that as the water surpassed his shoulders.

And there was nothing here that could help him, he realised in increasing distress, because the water was rising and it didn't look like it was going to slow down, and the only things that were floating were all too small to help him, and the two ways out of here were both blocked.

He tried to sink out again, trying every room in turn and even Thomas in the physical world, but none of them worked, each barred from him, and Logan was beginning to realise this wasn't a problem he could solve on his own.

“Roman?” he called to the room, hoping the creative side would hear him and perhaps come to his rescue;  _ he would be the best option for helping in this situation anyway _ , Logan thought as he began to tread water.

“Remus?” he tried, any previous reluctance dissipating in the face of imminent drowning. 

“De—” he began, but a thought suddenly struck him. If he called for one of the others and they  _ did _ come, that would only mean they were stuck too. Which would certainly not be ideal. Logan wasn't even sure where any of them could be, as he had entered every room in the mindscape by this point and each one had been empty of the others, but they couldn't have just disappeared. That wasn't how this worked. That wasn't how any of this worked.

Logan was very glad Thomas had learned to swim as the ceiling came closer and closer, his head knocking against it with the rising water. 

He braced himself and, taking a deep breath, dove downwards. 

He tugged at the door handle, hoping beyond hope that maybe, just maybe, things would be different this time, but the iron remained steady, not even straining under the pull. He kicked towards the surface, breaking the top and almost hitting his face of the ceiling as he took a gulp of the two or three centimetres of air still left, and dwindling fast.

He dove down again, heading to the door in one last, desperate attempt, but instead of moving towards the door he was pulling away. Spinning around, he held a hand over his mouth to prevent gasping in surprise at the large whirlpool situated in the centre of the floor, grasping at him with water currents that steadily drew him nearer.

He tried to kick away from it, feet flailing wildly as he watched various CDs and notebooks disappear into the abyss, but no matter how strong of a swimmer he was the whirlpool was more powerful, and it was only seconds before he was inside the mouth. And then he was sinking down, down, down, spinning nauseatingly as small objects bounced against him. Somehow, his glasses remained—not that there was anything to see in the blackness anyway.

And then everything was calm. He had stopped moving.

He forced open his eyes, and looked around, only to see he was surrounded by water that only seemed to stretch on no matter which direction he faced. Alone.

He was in the ocean.

As soon as he processed this, he was suddenly very, very cold and everything went very, very dark.

He was acutely aware of his lungs screaming for oxygen, and he could feel the water pressure crushing him, liquid forcing itself down his throat and into his mouth and eyes and ears, and from somewhere in the inky depths below, something roared. He looked down, a shoal of fish flitting past as they moved to escape whatever was below, but Logan could only sit and watch. 

A huge mouth appeared, wide open, hundreds of rows of teeth lining the maw, each the size of Logan’s torso as fish who were not fast enough were swallowed whole.

This was it.

Logan looked up, towards where he was sure the surface must lie, and praying that the others were safe, wherever they were.

He only wished he could have had one last look at the stars, as the teeth obscured his vision and his lungs gave out.

And suddenly he could breathe again, shooting upright and holding a hand to his chest to feel his rapidly beating heart. Still alive. Still alive. 

“Logan!” said Virgil’s voice, and Logan almost cried out, sure this was all just a cruel repeat, and any second now he was going to be back in the water, unable to breathe, unable to cry out, with no idea if the others—

“ _ Logan.  _ It's Virgil. Take a breath. You had a nightmare. You're safe.”

“I— what?” Logan said, voice breaking. It made sense. It made sense, but, how had, how— Quietly, unsurely, he whispered, “it seemed so real.”

“I know,” said Virgil, perching on the edge of Logan’s bed. Logan was suddenly reminded that yes, of course Virgil knew, because he always knew whenever any of them had a nightmare. He was Anxiety, after all, and selfish as Logan felt for thinking it, he was glad Virgil had come. “Want a tissue, Teach?” Virgil added softly, offering one off-handedly before looking away to examine the ceiling.

Logan took it somewhat confusedly, before he realised with a start that his face was damp. He had been crying. Hurriedly, he dried his face, thankful that Virgil had chosen to look elsewhere whilst he sorted himself. 

“I'm sorry,” he said after a moment, locating his glasses from the bedside table and feeling a sense of relief wash over him as the world became clearer. “That was uncharacteristically…  _ emotional  _ of me.”

Virgil seemed almost to laugh, a withheld smirk flashing across his features. “I know you have emotions, Logan, and that's okay; you don't need to hide them. Do you want to tell me about it?”

Taking a deep breath and lying back onto his pillow, Logan’s eyes drank in the stars and constellations in his ceiling, the night sky Roman had put into place for him twinkling comfortingly. 

“Everything was flooding.”

**Author's Note:**

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